Nothing Remains the Same
by Dresupi
Summary: George finds a sword that is not magical in the slightest. Until it is. And then everything starts to go horribly wrong. Muggle AU. Fairytale AU. George/Hermione. One Shot. Angst.


**Muggle AU/Fairytale AU. With cursed swords that give three (very literal wishes). There is angst. AnGsT. But I resolve it. *hearts***

 **Written in October 2017 for my Halloween prompts. I wrote this for webuiltthiscityonescargot on tumblr. It is cross-posted to ao3.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

His eyes opened and he glanced at the window, stretching and rolling over to get out of bed. Ready to start the day.

He wondered if Hermione was going to come over that morning or if she was going to wait until after lunch. He knew the Grangers' dental drill had broken again. They'd be sending it over with her so he and Fred could fix it.

Fred eyed him from the kitchen, taking a sip of his tea. "So, are you going to go look for that sword again today? Hermione's bringing the Grangers' dental drill over sometime… I dunno why we continue to repair that torture device..."

"So people's teeth don't fall out," George said with a smirk. "We've fixed that bleeding thing a thousand times, are you sure you even need my help?"

"It's quicker with you helping with all those bolts and things…" Fred replied. "So, can I count on your help? Or are you going to look for that bloody sword again?"

George pressed his lips together. "I think you can handle it, Fred. Something tells me this sword will be the answer to all our problems."

* * *

 **The Next Day**

George tapped the blade of the sword against the dining table. And of course, as it had the last few hundred times, it did nothing.

"You're going to have to admit the obvious, oh-brother-of-mine…" Fred singsonged from the workbench in the far corner. "That thing is a piece of junk, and you wasted your time looking for it."

George rolled his eyes. "It's the sword of legends, Fred. The sword of Godric Gryffindor himself. It's supposed to imbue the owner with great powers."

Fred rolled his eyes and went back to his work. "My foot is about to imbue your arse with great power if you don't put that thing down and help me finish this repair. It's for your sweetheart's family. You'd think you'd be more apt to help me."

"Hermione's not my sweetheart," he countered. George set the sword back on the table with a sigh. He was starting to think that perhaps his brother was right. The sword was likely just a myth and what he'd found either by providence or complete coincidence was a hunk of junk that was going to take up space in their workshop.

He went to join his twin at the workbench. The Grangers' dental drill wasn't going to repair itself.

"Are your future in-laws actually going to pay us for this?" Fred asked.

"Yes… in dental work…" George said under his breath.

Fred sighed. "Does anyone in this bleeding town have any actual gold? I feel as if we've been trading services all year long."

"We have. Everyone's trying to save up for taxes."

"But if noone has any gold…"

"We're trying not to think about all that. Everyone would appreciate it if you didn't bring down the mood around here," a very familiar voice interjected.

George smiled warmly, finishing up on the bolt he'd been reattaching. "Hullo, 'Mione…"

"Is that drill finished yet?"

"It'd already be finished if my brother wasn't wasting away the afternoon playing with his sword…" George reached over and smacked the back of Fred's head. "Blimey…"

Hermione clapped excitedly. "You found it?"

"It's over there…" George nodded at the table.

"Oh… _wow_!" Hermione was smiling. He couldn't actually see her, but George had grown accustomed to the different tones in her voice. And it sounded like she was smiling. Perhaps a little too widely, given the forced nature of her tone, but she was likely trying to sound enthused about the corroded blade on the table.

"Yeah…" He finished re-attaching the bolt before patting Fred's back the rest of it to his brother. "It was right where the map said it'd be…"

"Oh _please_ George. Leave the rest of this to me. You've done so much _already_ ," Fred muttered facetiously.

"What of the _great power_?" she asked, wriggling her fingers in the air around it. "Is it as astounding as you thought?"

"It's about as magic as you or I," Fred chuckled.

Hermione tilted her head, peering at the sword as one of her stray curls fell forward into her eyes. "Well, magic _is_ a fickle thing, isn't it? Rather like beauty, it's all in the eye of the beholder..."

George gazed over at her. She was lovely. She always knew just the right thing to say in any situation. And he longed to reach over tuck one of her curls behind her ear. That very one that always seemed to find its way in front of her face.

He'd also been hoping that at least the sword might fetch a nice sum at the market in the castle courtyard. The people of the court were the only ones with access to gold, so they were his only chance at procuring the funds. Enough to pay the taxes for both his family and hers.

And then maybe her father would allow him to ask for her hand.

But as it was, the thing needed to be polished before he could do anything with it.

Hermione reached for the sword, holding it aloft in her hand before bringing it closer for inspection. "There's something engraved on the blade, did you see this, George?"

"What is it?" he asked, peering over the blade in her hand.

"I can't quite make it out, you'll have to polish it…"

Hermione turned the blade over to look at the other side, but cried out instead, dropping it to the ground with a clatter.

"Are you alright?" he asked, reaching for her instinctively.

"I think I've cut myself… I'm so clumsy..."

She was holding her fist shut and George had to practically pry her fingers apart to inspect the wound. It was long, but not deep, thankfully. But it seemed like the sight of the cut had Hermione going all light-headed, so he supported her weight and helped her over to the wash basin, where she allowed him to clean and dress the wound. He finished tucking the bandage around her palm and unthinkingly brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there.

She cupped his chin and dragged her thumb across the stubble on his jaw and then unfortunately, Fred had to interrupt them by coughing. "The drill is finished, Hermione. George can… uh… help you carry it back?"

"In other words, ' _don't make me watch you snog my brother, Hermione_ '…" she said with a short laugh.

The thought of snogging Hermione made _George_ go all weak in the knees however, and it took him two tries to stand.

They finally rose, and George took the drill in both his arms so Hermione wouldn't have to use her hand at all.

They took their time walking back to her parents' home, chatting and giving each other long meaningful looks. And upon arrival on her doorstep, she had just leaned over to kiss his cheek when she fell against him with a soft sigh.

"'Mione?" George asked, shifting the drill into one arm so he could support Hermione's weight with the other. He kicked at the door with one foot. "Mr. Granger? Mrs. Granger?"

"George Weasley, why what on earth are you…" Hermione's mother's voice trailed off when she saw Hermione slumped in his arms. "What happened? ROBERT?" Her mother called behind her. "ROBERT, COME HERE NOW!"

He passed the unconscious Hermione off to her father, who hurried off with her to her bedroom.

He lay the dental drill on their table and waited, nervously watching the door and wiping his hands on his trousers.

Katherine Granger stood there, wringing her hands for a few moments before she spoke. "What's happened? Did something… was she hurt?"

"I dunno, ma'am… she cut herself earlier… on a sword…"

"A sword?" Katherine turned to stare at him. "Where did you find a sword?"

"It's not important, but it wasn't a deep cut, Mrs. Granger. It was barely a scratch, I helped her wash and bandage it…" He heard a cry from down the hall that made his blood run cold. "Shall I send for a healer?"

"We don't have any way of payin' a healer…" Her mother said softly, worrying at the edge of her linen apron. "Healers don't usually ask for dental work…and we have no gold to speak of..."

"Call the healer, I'll figure out a way to pay them."

"George…" She gazed over at him with such a thankful expression. "This isn't your concern, dear boy…"

"It _is_ my concern. And I will attend to it. Just… call the healer, Mrs. Granger."

"Light smiles upon you, George Weasley."

He nodded. "Let's hope it keeps up, then."

* * *

Fred sat up with him for a right long time, but currently his brother was snoring softly on his bed in the back of the shop.

By working far into the night, George was able to get most of the corrosion on the blade rubbed clean and polished shiny. When he looked upon it however, he could see the blessing Godric had etched upon it, but over top of it, was some… _other_ etching. Something he couldn't read. If he didn't know how hard it was to etch upon a steel blade, he'd have thought the scratches to be damage. But they were too precise. Too clean to be damage.

"Bloody hell, I wish I could read this…" he muttered.

The blade began to glow, burning hot enough that he had to drop it on the table.

As he nursed the burn on his hand, he watched the scratches rearrange themselves into glowing words across the broad side of the sword.

 _Activated by the blood of an innocent, the owner of this sword will receive three wishes. No more. No less. Thou may wish for anything, but be careful what thou wisheth for. These wishes will come true._

The blood of an innocent. It must have been Hermione's. Hermione was the innocent?

He wasn't entirely thrilled about that. It should have been him.

Three wishes. Being the clever man he was, George assumed he must have already had one wish granted. He _could_ read the words on the sword after all.

Of course, he only had two wishes left, he needed to be careful about what he wished for. As per the sword's warning..

What he really needed was a sum of gold so he could help Hermione's parents pay the healer when she arrived. But he was much too exhausted to think right now. He'd best try to get some sleep. He'd be no good to Hermione if he was groggy and tired.

He placed the sword back on the table, turning round to check the front door and the windows, making sure they were locked. He couldn't afford to lose the sword now that he'd finally begun to figure out what it's powers were.

With one more glance at the now gleaming weapon on the table, he doused the light and made his way into the back of the shop to go to bed.

* * *

 **The Day Following That**

According to her parents, Hermione had taken a turn for the worse overnight, the healer was now calling in her apprentice to help with her around-the-clock care that Hermione now needed..

It made him uneasy, how sick she'd gotten. And so quickly. She looked so very small there in her bed, her face pallid and grey-looking.

Another worry was how he was going to pay for both the healer _and_ the apprentice? He'd have to figure out a way. And soon.

* * *

He had a hell of a time finding his way to the market. It seemed that every bleeding road sign along the way had been defaced. He couldn't make out _any_ of the words printed upon them. Not a single one. He finally had to ask for directions at an inn.

The innkeeper had certainly given him an odd look when he complained about the signs.

Things weren't exactly going well for George once he arrived at the market either.

Over the course of the day, he found two interested buyers, but given that he still hadn't chosen his last two wishes, he ended up backing out of both sales.

He'd been hoping to think of them on the way to the market, but the sad state of the signs had kept him from allowing his mind to wander for even a second during the trip there.

The trip back wasn't promising to be any more fruitful.

Perplexed with himself and confused, he began to make his way home as the sun went down. His pocketwatch read about twenty past six. Or it would have, if he could have seen the numbers. It seemed something had happened to the face of his watch as well. He couldn't make out a single digit. He'd have to get Fred to look at the thing for him once he got home. Luckily, he knew how to tell time without the numbers, or he would really be in trouble.

But he knew what he had to wish for, given his terrible day at the market, and because he hadn't really been able to think of any other way to solve this problem. He likely should have wished this earlier this morning and he might have not had to take this horrible trip at all.

Pulling the sword out of the linen sheet had it wrapped in, he ran his fingers over the broad side of the blade. "I wish I could somehow make the money to pay for Hermione's healer tonight."

The blade warmed again, but this time, he had it wrapped, so it didn't burn his hands.

He was quickly approaching his and Fred's shopfront. Their shopfront and home combined. There simply wasn't enough room at the Burrow for the two of them and all the rest of their siblings as well. Mum and Dad tried their damnedest, but he was aware of how much of a drain he and Fred could be, so as soon as they could move out and earn their own way, they had.

He waved at the Potters across the way. James and Lily were farmers. Constantly out in their fields checking on the crops and such. Their son Harry was friends with Fred and George's younger brother. _And_ they traded fresh produce for his and his brother's constant help with that rickety plow they owned. That damn thing likely wouldn't work at all if it wasn't for their horse's strength to pull it through the dirt and all the repairs he and Fred had performed upon it.

The more he thought about it, the more he wished he could come up with the funds to pay everyone's taxes for the year. Or _something_ , so that everyone in town could relax and stop wandering about with this constant expression of impending doom upon their faces.

Perhaps that would be his final wish. To somehow keep everyone in this hamlet from having to pay their taxes. Yes, that sounded like a jolly good use of his final wish.

He was about to open the door to the shop when there was a terrible racket behind him. A stagecoach bearing the seal of the viscount skidded to a halt amongst a terrified whinny from the horse pulling it and the cracking of an axle.

He turned, his eyes going wide at the sight of the horse, leg bloodied and broken.

"You there!" the footman barked. "Can you fix this?"

Fred was outside in seconds, gazing down at the carnage. "What's he on about? The horse? Does he want us to fix that horse?"

"No," the footman barked, stepping off of the carriage and walking around to the front where the horse was writhing in agony. He drew a pistol and shot the beast right in the head. "The carriage. Can you fix the carriage? The viscount will pay you handsomely." He nodded up at the tinted windows of the coach.

Gulping, Fred and George nodded.

* * *

The repair took them a few hours. Plenty of time for the viscount to step out of the carriage and demand that the Potters turn over their horse to him.

George felt guilty, but he still hoped he could fix everything once he made his final wish. He just wanted to get this money over to the healer as soon as possible. To make sure Hermione was taken care of.

He really had hoped his wish could have been granted with as little bloodshed as possible, but apparently the powers that were took the first opportunity they could.

As did he, with the bag of gold he and Fred received for their services. He ran it to the Grangers' house. He knew the way, and tried not to pay any attention to the nonsense words on the street signs.

Of course, once he'd arrived, he realized something was terribly wrong.

He prayed that the worst hadn't come to pass. That he wasn't too late with his money.

Mrs. Granger answered the door, with red eyes and nose, she sniffled and allowed him inside. George took in the ghostly countenance of Mr. Granger, and followed Katherine back to Hermione's room.

Hermione was lying on the bed. Unmoving save for the small rise and fall of her chest.

George's breath caught in his throat as he went to kneel at her bedside. He took her hand, shocked to find it chilled.

He turned to look at the healer and her apprentice. A mother and daughter duo, if he had to venture a guess. Matching long blonde hair and blue eyes. Lovegood, he believed their last name was.

"She's unresponsive…" the apprentice replied to his unspoken question. "Has been for the better part of the evening... everything was looking up and then… poof. She was out like a light at half six."

 _Half six?_

George's stomach dropped. His eyes glanced over at the book the healer was pouring over, surprised to discover he could read it. And he was not thrilled with what he found there.

"You think she's been cursed?" he asked, gesturing towards the book. "Cursed by whom? By what?" He was more frightened of the response he was going to receive than anything that could be summoned by that book.

The healer's eyes narrowed. "You can read this?"

"Blimey, it's the only bloody thing I _can_ read. I woke up this morning and nothing' made sense anymore..."

"Where have you seen it before?" the healer asked, deftly sidestepping his odd rambling.

"On this…" He trailed off realizing how barmy he was going to sound. But if it could help Hermione, he'd let them drag him off to the funny farm tomorrow. "This _sword_ I found. It… it apparently grants wishes… and I've-"

"And it has writing like… like this…" she trailed off, "Etched upon it?"

"Aye," he said with a short nod. "Etched across the original etching. It's a bloody mess, it is."

"Do you have it with you? This sword?"

He shook his head.

"Go. Get this sword, bring it here. Do not do anything else, do you understand? And whatever you do, do _not_ make another wish."

He nodded, getting up to leave at once.

* * *

The healer took one look at it and went as white as a sheet.

"The sword of Godric Gryffindor… _sullied_ by this… dark magic…"

George frowned. "What-"

"You have one wish left." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"You must wish this away."

"Wish what now? Whenever I wish, it takes it absolutely bloody literally and I've royally mucked everything up so far and…"

"Just wish none of it happened. It's the only way to save Hermione. It is sapping her lifeforce. This is blood magic. I cannot break this curse without your help, George Weasley."

"I… wish everything was back to the way it was before I found the sword." He said, feeling the sword warm up in his hand once more.

* * *

 **Two mornings earlier...**

His eyes opened and he glanced at the window, stretching and rolling over to get out of bed. Ready to start the day.

He wondered if Hermione was going to come over that morning or if she was going to wait until after lunch. He knew the Grangers' dental drill had broken again. They'd be sending it over with her so he and Fred could fix it.

Fred eyed him from the kitchen, taking a sip of his tea. "So, are you going to go look for that sword again today? Hermione's bringing the Grangers' dental drill over today sometimes… I dunno why we continue to repair that torture device..."

"So people's teeth don't fall out," George said with a smirk. "We've fixed that bleeding thing a thousand times, are you sure you even need my help?"

"It's quicker with you helping with all those bolts and things…" Fred replied. "So, can I count on your help? Or are you going to look for that bloody sword again?"

George pressed his lips together. "Fine. I'll stay home. Something tells me that sword is nothing but trouble anyway."

* * *

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